No Control

It was a ritual, a town's tradition.

'The Pinegrove Party.'

It started out many years ago. The, now very old people, decided to end their summer with something people would remember. Thus how the Pinegrove Party was started.

Unlike the usual town's traditions, this one was the only known to the younger members of the town. I mean, that's what we like to believe. Clearly, if it had been going on for so long, our parents probably attended.

The first one I went to was right before I started my freshman year. So tonight will me my fourth one. It wasn't just a one night thing. It was a weekend long occasion with massive amounts of stolen alcohol, dirty hook-ups, and a hell of a lot of wild dancing.

The best part about it though was that it took place in the school.

I know a lot of people are thinking, 'how the hell do they get away with it each year?' It amazes me too how we pull it off. I have come up with a theory that the old folk know about it, but have accepted it as our lovely town's tradition and decide to turn a blind eye. Plus, I don't think they want to admit that they attended a gathering filled with alcohol, sex, and lack of morals. No parent will admit that to their child.

It was great though, because like I said, nobody knew.

This year however, everybody was going to find out about the Pinegrove party.

Not because of some loudmouth in the group who tells Principal Miles, or because some moron posted about it on Facebook. We all knew the rules, and if you let it slip, you might as well move out of the town.

The reason that everyone would become aware of our little tradition is because of amongst all the booze, sex, and antics, there was one party goer who didn't attend for all of that.

They had a very different reason for attending the party, and unfortunately for everyone else who was happily drunk or getting laid in the stairwells, it would end bloody.

I wasn't even going to go this year, really. My mom and dad said that we were going to take a trip to Los Angeles to visit my uncle Sam.

But due to my best friend Zayn's uttermost begging, and some other circumstances, I ended up at the party. For my weekend, I planned to drink my body weight in Jack Daniels, I was going to dance until I couldn't stand anymore, and maybe I was going to hook-up with a few people. I wanted to have a fun weekend where I could forget about everything happening at home, but what do I get?

A crazed fucking psycho killing people off at the party, one by one.

I am not joking; my weekend consisted of me fighting, literally, for my life to get out of the school alive.

I genuinely thought that the worst pain I would experience would be the hangover on Monday morning and maybe a couple cuts and bruises from falling over drunk. That obviously didn't happen.

To top it all off, not only was I trapped in my school in the middle of the summer, with a serial killer killing off my classmates, I was also trapped with the most useless bunch of assholes I have ever met. There was someone for everyone's taste.

There were the bitchy girls showing off too much cleavage.

There were the manwhore guys that were more concerned about not getting laid rather than dying.

There were the geeks who only knew about World of Warcraft and couldn't throw a single punch if their life depended on it, which it evidently did.

And then we had the mysterious bad boys.

The worst of all, and yes it does get worse, one of those mysterious bad boys was the most useful out of everyone at the party.

I would have never thought it though. I have known him for many years, we both lived in this town all our lives and his mom used to work for my dad, which meant plenty of awkward dinners at my house. He came from England when he was six. How he managed to keep his accent all these years in America still doesn't make sense to me. His name is Harry.

He was one of the few, along with myself who didn't burst out crying or run for their lives when face to face with the killer. We had somehow formed a Batman and Robin type of relationship.

If you ask him, he would tell you he was Batman. I can assure you though that is a pile of massive horse crap, because Batman wouldn't constantly hit on Robin while struggling for survival.

I didn't know if it was the adrenaline or the fact that we could have died at any moment, but I swear that kid was always horny.

So instead of partying the weekend away like I planned, I had somehow fallen into this surreal world where there was a crazy murderer looking to cut me up like a ham, a guy who thought that being this close to death would 'give me the motivation to give him the best blowjob of his life,' and yes, that was a direct quote from him.. and a group of people that were about as useful as a diet plan for the cookie monster.

Trying to get out of there alive was going to be the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I actually was genuinely worried that I would end up killing someone myself. If one more cheerleader screamed like a banshee at the sight of blood on her white pants, or if one more asshole tried to grope me to 'try to help me get through this traumatizing experience,' I was going to lose it. I would have probably given the killer a shoutout to let me be on his team.

Looking back now, a brutal hangover would have been a fucking blessing.

Notes

chapter one up soon! let me know what you think so far? :)

xoxo